


Less Than the Quiet

by Turquink



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Canon, Why do I do this to myself, jdonica, musical verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:42:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9911774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turquink/pseuds/Turquink
Summary: Sometimes Veronica still hears things.Inspired by a post by tumblr user jdronica that made me way sadder than I signed up for smh.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this post: http://jdronica.tumblr.com/post/157595689600/

Veronica hates the silence. She was sure it was like this before, but sometimes it’s hard to remember what it was like before he swooped in and set her whole world on fire.

Quite literally.

Veronica groans and hits the book gently against her forehead, half angry and half disappointed in her brain for making that last comment. It’s 11:30 on a Friday night, when Martha is home with family from out of town and Heather Mac has too much homework to hang out. Thus, Veronica is stuck in her room, laying on her back and attempting to read a library book that’s due back in two days.

Her room is as cluttered as ever, everything with its place even if it’s not exactly the neatest place. She averts her eyes from her closet door; she tries not to think about the horrible things that transpired only a few months before, but the panic and desperation sometimes sink into her bones as she picks out her outfit for the day in the early mornings.

The world outside has become deathly still with only the occasional passing car and Veronica’s own breathing to break the silence. Turning the book’s pages becomes the loudest thing in the room, and it makes her very uncomfortable. She rereads the same sentence for the fourth time in a row, trying to concentrate on the story and not the inherent _wrongness_ she’s feeling.

_Tap. Tap._

A sound from the window. Veronica’s head shoots up from the page, eyes wide and heart beating rapidly. She throws the book on her bed and rushes to the window, thoughts racing and—

Oh.

It’s a tree branch.

Veronica lets out a heavy sigh, backing away slowly. It was just the tree branch. She shook her head, as if trying to physically force the thoughts out of her head—thoughts of boys crawling through her window, charming but nervous smiles, the movies they watched together in the darkness with nothing better to do and lighthearted but deep conversations about what they would do after all of… _this._

Veronica draws her curtains over the window, abandoning her book as she slides almost numbly to the floor.

Because for one split second, she had allowed herself to think—hope, even—that maybe, even after everything, J.D. had survived, that he would come back alive and well like nothing bad had ever happened and hold her just like he used to.


End file.
